Vision
by W.H. Woolhat
Summary: Desmond completely loses it after Charlie calls him a coward. Based on the Lost Moment from Nov. 15th '06, and therefore 100percent not canon.


**Author's Note:** This will inevitably be AU once February 7th rolls around. I really liked the clip from this past week, though, and had to write this down so it'd stop bugging me. I don't think it's as good as my other Des fics, but I can see it fitting right before a flashback in an episode. (If you haven't seen the "Lost Moment" this is based on, it'll be on ABC's website until 11/22, and there are screencaps from it at lost-media's gallery site.)

* * *

**Vision**

Desmond couldn't believe how utterly tired he felt. He had never been this tired in the hatch, despite having to wake up every hundred and eight minutes to push the button. It felt like every part of his body had a weight tied to it. He staggered through the sand, eyes half-closed, fatigue so heavy on him that he felt like he was in a trance. He fought it, just as he'd been fighting for the past few days. If he let the feeling take him over, he'd start seeing things again. That was not something he could deal with right now. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to deal with it.

Someone was talking to him. He ignored the voice, trying to concentrate on walking without falling over. If he could just make it through the night without another vision, another hellish glimpse of the future—

"Oy! Don't walk away from me!"

Desmond's bleary brain recognized the voice, just barely. Short guy. British. Charlie, right? What did he want?

"I don't know how you're doin' what it is you're doin'," Charlie's voice continued as Desmond kept walking, "but I know a coward when I see one."

_Coward_. The word slammed into Desmond's ears as hard as if someone had slapped him. He half-turned, teeth clenched, and had only a brief glimpse of Charlie's annoyed expression before images started flooding his head.

Penny came first, her tears and disappointment as she asked him what he was running from. Then Kelvin, drunk and laughing, asking if he had the courage to use the failsafe in the hatch. Himself, gun in hand, ready for the end. Locke smashing the computer on the hatch floor. The timer running down, wires in the passage under the hatch spitting sparks as he crawled, the failsafe, the key, the whiteness…

All this sped through Desmond's head in a fraction of a second. Charlie took the slight pause as an opportunity to reiterate,

"You're a coward!" He barely had the words out before Desmond plowed into him.

Desmond's mind screamed as they hit the sand. How dare he? How dare he even _think_ that when he had no idea? What did he know? What did _any _of these people know?

"You don't want to know what happened to me when I turned that key!" Desmond yelled. The fatigue was gone now, replaced by a volatile mix of anger, hurt, and alienation.

"Get off!" Charlie exclaimed, pulling at Desmond's hands, which had somehow ended up around his neck. Desmond redoubled his grip without even thinking.

"You don't want to know what happened to me!" he repeated, the words catching in his throat. He didn't see the crowd that the ruckus was drawing. People were peering out of their tents or coming tentatively down the beach to see what was happening. Hurley, who had already been sitting a short distance away, stood up slowly, unsure of what to do.

"Dude, uh—" he started, but was cut off when Locke came pushing past him.

"Desmond!" Locke exclaimed, coming up behind Desmond and pulling him off Charlie. "What the hell is going on?"

Charlie staggered to his feet, coughing and rubbing his neck.

"What did you say to him?" Locke demanded. Desmond was struggling against Locke's grip, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Nothin'!" Charlie insisted. "The man's bloody crazy! He's a few numbers short of a code, if you ask me."

Desmond tried to lunge for Charlie again, but Locke held him back.

"Dude," Hurley said from behind them, "that's not funny."

"Well, what am I supposed to think?" Charlie exclaimed. "He shows up out of nowhere and spews some garbage about Claire's tent having somethin' wrong with it, then builds a bloody golf club lightning rod only seconds before a storm blows in, and I'm supposed to think this is normal?"

"Would you rather she have died?" Desmond screamed.

"Come on, that's enough," Locke said calmly. The statement was meant to end the confrontation, but Desmond took it personally. He wrenched out of Locke's grip, whirled around, and punched the man in the jaw as hard as he could. Locke staggered backward, shocked.

"You should have let me push the damn button!" Desmond thundered at him. "If you hadn't been so bloody stubborn, none of this would have happened to me! I'd be normal! I'd be able to sleep! I'd be able to _live_!"

"What are you talking about?" Locke asked in confusion. He was trying to wipe the blood off his face with the back of his hand and not having much success.

"You don't want to know!" Desmond shouted. He turned, and finally caught sight of the crowd that had gathered around them. Everyone was staring at him. He spread his arms and yelled at them,

"What are you all staring at? Eh? Think I'm a few numbers short of a code, too? Well, you don't know me! None of you know me! You don't know what's happened to me, so just leave me alone!"

People started backing away. A few turned and ran outright back to their tents.

"Desmond," Locke tried again, hoping there was still a chance of calming Desmond's tirade.

Desmond rounded on him, wild-eyed. "Leave me the hell alone, John!"

Locke opened his mouth to say something more, but decided against it. Instead, he shrugged and walked away. Desmond stared after him, breathing heavily, as the rest of the crowd dissipated. Charlie was the last, and he deliberately walked past Desmond, glaring as he went.

"Sodding crazy button-pusher," he muttered. Desmond just continued to stare. The anger was draining away, leaving room for the fatigue to come rushing back. It hit him like a wave and he sank to his knees in the sand, shaking all over.

He couldn't do this anymore. The hatch had robbed him of most of his sanity, and turning the key…

Blowing the dam hadn't killed him, but what good was being alive if nobody would ever understand? What good was being around people again if he couldn't talk to anybody about what had happened to him?

He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. The breeze from the ocean carried the sound, unheeded, over the empty beach.


End file.
